


The Shifting Sheriff

by mia6363



Series: Mayor Peter Hale [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amorality, Graphic Descriptions of the Aftermath of Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Violence, What Happens When We Try to Fix Our Moral Compass, grey morality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 11:33:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12911055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia6363/pseuds/mia6363
Summary: Noah’s first thought was,this is a fucking terrible idea.His second thought was,how did I forget how good this feels?





	The Shifting Sheriff

Chilled summer air rolled lazily through the windows of Noah’s cruiser. It was a dark sweetness, much like Beacon Hills itself. He breathed deeply as he patrolled the roads that he knew like his own hands, every pothole, every freshly painted double-yellow lines were ingrained into his memory. The wheels crunched on gravel as the Sheriff slowed to a stop at the intersection by the high school. 

In a few years, Stiles would be stepping through those doors in a sea of kids from three other townships. The thought made his chest twist and his grip tighten on the steering wheel. 

Beacon Hills was a beautiful town, idyllic and lush as though it were created for postcards. Traffic died down after nine at night. Folks had a habit of leaving their doors unlocked. It was easy, Noah thought, to let the floral scents wash over the darker undertones. 

His private walkie crackled to life. 

_“Hey dad,”_ Stiles’s voice crackled over the walkie. Noah straightened and rubbed his eyes. He cleared his throat of the floral air. _“I’m almost done with my homework, but there’s just one subject giving me trouble.”_

Noah swallowed, his throat was dry. His son’s voice was deceptively calm. He was such a _smart_ boy and when Noah’s grip tightened on the wheel he thought, _he shouldn’t have to be this smart at his age._

“Oh yeah?” His route took him away from his home, if he doubled back now he could be back in ten minutes. Six if he sped. But if he did, he’d be deviating from routine. “What subject, kiddo?” 

“ _Math_.” Stiles groaned but the Sheriff heard the slight waver in his breath. His cruiser still idled at the intersection despite there being no traffic on, his blinker click-click-clicking while his son continued on their private channel. _“It’s a tough problem, it’s hard to explain.”_

Math meant _there’s a car outside_. A tough problem that was hard to explain meant _I don’t recognize it._ Noah dragged his fingers down his face. 

“Do you want me to call Melissa, see if she is awake to help?” _Do you need me to come home?_

_“No, it’s okay. I showed as much work as I could, we can look at it over breakfast.” I took down the license plate, car model, and color._ He heard Stiles shuffle around on his bed. _“I’ve got everything in my bag for school tomorrow. Goodnight, dad.”_

_All the doors are locked and the alarm system is activated._ Despite his pounding heart, the Sheriff turned right and kept driving. 

“Goodnight, Stiles.” 

Beacon Hills was indeed beautiful, but there was a darkness under the surface level beauty. It was something not many people talked about. It was hard to really grip the shadows that lingered when it seemed that Beacon Hills was improving. _Why are you making waves_ , District Attorney Whittamore had complained over drinks, _I thought the police would be happy about the lowering crime rates._

Noah Stilinski _wanted_ to be happy. He wished he could just take the improvements at face value, but he couldn’t help but notice that the decrease in crime was sudden and didn’t result from any change in procedure on the police’s end. It was as if those who had ill intent… simply vanished or moved out.

When the Sheriff had a late shift, a car would wait outside of his house, never moving until he was turning onto his street. 

Part of investigation was blending in. If Noah rushed home before his patrol was over it would seem odd. It would look like he’d gotten spooked. And it didn’t matter if Noah was covered in cold sweat and all he wanted to do was rush home to make sure his son was okay, he had to keep driving. 

He passed the general store and right before a sharp turn that would take him over the bridge by an old paper mill, he screeched to a halt. He grabbed his work walkie. 

“10-50 on Maple Avenue, send an ambulance immediately.” 

Funny, how his heart rate didn’t pick up at the sight of a truck wrapped around a tree. The metal was still hot, smoking, the glass shimmering on the pavement. He got out of his car and hurried to the vehicle. The houses on the road were dark, their windows ink black, but he felt eyes on him. _Maybe not from the houses_ , Noah thought as he made it to the driver’s side, _maybe it’s coming from somewhere else._

Mitchell Lahey was in the driver’s seat. His neck slouched to one side at an unfortunate angle. Noah reached through the broken window and held his fingers centimeters from the man’s lips. Nothing. He gently touched his neck. No pulse. In fact, his body was quite cold. 

A ways down the dark roads of Beacon Hills, ambulance sirens wailed. Noah backed away from the car and took out his flashlight. He swept his beam over the broken glass, the eerie aria of the ambulance growing closer, louder, as he illuminated the pavement. The car was still hot, the smell of gasoline heavy in the air, but very much _missing_ was the smell of burned rubber. 

_No skid marks, and the body was cold when I got on the scene._

Hypnotic pulses of red lights bloomed along the street. The paramedics moved quickly and the breeze kicked up. Noah breathed deep and smelled decay and hot metal. The wind wove through his hair, and his next breath tasted like flowers and morning dew. 

::::

Noah’s mother said that Claudia was like a mirror. It wasn’t until they moved to Beacon Hills that he figured out what she meant. 

Claudia had a brutal honesty about her, but she rarely ever was brutally honest in words. With her actions, her poise, she served as an unavoidable reflection of whoever gazed upon her. With one glance she could send the most self-absorbed person into a spiral of uncomfortable existential questioning.

_Why am I the way I am? Why do I ignore others? Are my actions really so vainly motivated?_

He’d loved her and all the things she’d learned about herself and had others learn as well. When Stiles was born she held him close in her lap and would spin him stories pulled from delightful whispers. She was smart, she was razor-sharp, and she was unswayed by so many things that swayed so many others. 

Death was… not moved by reflection. The looming shadow of death made Claudia harder, her eyes like diamonds as she laid in her hospital bed. She sat up straight with her lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze pinned Noah to the wall, his throat tight as he shivered under her eyes. She’d asked he come alone and Melissa was kind enough to take Stiles in. 

“I’m going to die.” Claudia spoke in a voice clear and strong like a river during the first days of spring. Even with her shaved head and sallow skin she was undeniably fierce. Noah shook his head, hating the words that she spoke so freely. His eyes burned and he shook his head harder, _no_ — “Noah, _look at me_.”

He did, his eyes clearing as wetness streaked down his face. He wanted to bury himself in her memory, in their first dates, the first time they made love, every kiss and embrace— but he was unable to. It was as if her thin, long fingers were keeping him grounded in the present, on her every word. 

“Noah,” her voice steadied the growing hysteria in his chest, embracing it into calmness. The rush of blood in his ears faded, the beeps and chirps of hospital equipment vanished until it was just him and his wife. “I won’t be here, and I need you to love our son.”

“I do,” his lips quivered clumsily, “I do love him, Claudia—” 

She sighed, a soft noise that made her shoulders deflate and suddenly Noah realized why folks in Beacon Hills had such a hard time really _looking_ at her. Her visage hit him full force and it was as though his wife’s shape and features fell away to reveal a harsh mirror, large and undeniable in its reflection. 

“I won’t be here anymore, Noah, and I’m not going be there to explain the truth to Stiles. Please,” his wife’s voice rasped, “I see how you turn away from the truths that make you uncomfortable. How cruel children can be, the answer isn’t for him to stop crying, to stop feeling, Noah. It _isn’t_.” 

Noah saw himself stripped to the bone, to how his father had been rough with him, told him that only _funny_ men cried but not ha-ha funny, the other kind of _funny_. His father wanted a man and he’d raise a man. Ignore them or beat them down, but don’t you dare _cry_. Of course knew that kids could be cruel, he’d been a child himself. Stiles had been bullied his first day of kindergarten and Noah… 

He’d turned away, the sight of his son sobbing into his mother’s arms hurt too much. His fists had clenched and _he’d looked away._

“You can’t recoil from what makes you uncomfortable, Noah. Not anymore.”

She’d died a week later. Their funeral was a closed casket and Noah noticed how those attending seemed relieved. The sun shone brightly and chased the shadows away, it shone so bright that folks couldn’t hide behind their sunglasses. 

He couldn’t remember if Peter Hale had been there.

After the Sheriff had found Mitchell Lahey wrapped around a tree he slept two hours before he made Stiles breakfast, drove him to school, and immediately went to the morgue. Old Ed the mortician was there to meet him with a cup of coffee, one that Noah accepted graciously. 

“The EMT boys said you were the first on the scene last night.” Old Ed opened the double doors to the examination room. The air was ice cold and the fluorescent lights were unforgiving. Mitchell Lahey was laid out on the table, a sheet covering him up to his neck. “You make sure to get some sleep soon, Sheriff.” 

“I will,” Noah lied. “I just wanted to follow up.” 

Old Ed hummed, thumbing through his file with a leisurely pace that made Noah’s skin itch. 

“Looks to be cut-and-dry drunk driving to me. Lahey was up to his gills in alcohol, _well_ over the legal limit. He probably didn’t even realize how fast he was going. Probably didn’t feel a thing.” 

The mortician clicked his tongue. Noah felt the temptation to take the obvious explanation at face value because _this was Beacon Hills_. Nothing strange happened in Beacon Hills, but even that thought quickly soured. He thought of his wife. He reached for the sheet. 

“May I?” 

Old Ed swept his hand out in a _go right ahead_ motion. He pulled the sheet down to expose Mitchell’s grey flesh. The bruises on him were deep purple, stretching out across his shoulders, his forehead and nose, his knees twisted and bent, and more bruising wrapped around from his back. They were right out of a collision picture book, the horrors of perilous driving. Bruising that would be caused by evenly distributed and sudden impact. 

His eyes were drawn to the light markings from the seat belt. Those bruises were almost imperceptible, lavender and broken up into speckles. 

The Sheriff fixed the sheet. 

“Let me know if you find any small puncture wounds, tiny cuts, or odd abrasions.” 

Old Ed nodded with a wry smile. 

“You got it, Sheriff.” 

He stepped out into the bright sun moments later and breathed fresh, floral air. He noticed the _Mayor Hale_ bumper sticker on the back of Old Ed’s truck. No matter how hard he kept rubbing, Noah couldn’t quite chase the cold out of his hands. 

::::

Mayor Peter Hale was charming, charismatic, and when he smiled he brightened any room he occupied. He seemed to ooze a rosy gloss that added a hazy finish to his surroundings and words. He was very handsome. 

He was also the start of the _weird_ occurrences happening in Beacon Hills. 

Noah would never forget how Stiles shivered at the wild party that was thrown after Peter won his first election. The confetti was bits of red, white, and blue tissue paper that were peppered with gold glitter. Peter had Cora in one arm and the other was thrown around his nephew Derek. Apparently their new Mayor had recovered well after the burns that had once marred his face. He was striking, his smile honey-hued and tempting. 

Stiles pressed his face against his father’s neck. His grip was a vice on Noah’s shoulders as his tiny voice managed to permeate the full swing band and raucous cheers from the crowd. 

“He’s not bad, but he’s not _good_ , either.” 

Stiles twisted in Noah’s arms and turned back toward their new mayor. Streamers fell around them and when Noah looked up at his son, he realized just how much Stiles took after his mother. He turned his head to follow Stiles’s gaze to their new mayor. 

He’d campaigned aggressively with bold promises but with solid plans to back them up. He’d arrived a year after the fire with a freshly healed face and his heart set on becoming the mayor. It was a close race, but when he made his speech Peter’s tone sounded as though the outcome was inevitable. He was gracious, he was funny, and he was relentless in his optimism. 

Noah couldn’t help but think of him after the fire. He remembered Peter never letting his niece and nephew out of his sight even as he walked from the hospital. The Sheriff had helped Derek and Cora into the care before he turned to Peter and said it had been arson. Peter had paused and when their eyes met Noah remembered how his heart had frozen in his chest at the fiery rage that burned behind his smile. 

_“I envy you, Sheriff. You see the best in this town… it must be so easy to sleep at night.”_ When he smiled Noah could feel its disgust. 

Peter’s eyes swept the room after his speech and he met Noah’s briefly. Noah wasn’t sure if Peter even registered his face in the crowd, but he allowed himself to feel relief when Peter’s disgusted sneer didn’t return. 

As promised, Peter’s career began with large leaps. He redistributed the budgets to boost the police force and education systems. He took crime seriously, and by the end of his second week in office, Kate Argent had been arrested for weapons trafficking. 

_“The first of many criminals to face justice,”_ Peter’s smooth voice promised in his press conference, _“Beacon Hills is a beautiful town but it can better. We’ve been settling for too little for too long. It will be hard, but I promise this is fight worth winning.”_

Noah had felt moved, as hesitant as he’d been about their new mayor. He thought of that speech as he pulled up to one of the rehabilitation facilities that Peter had personally funded during his first term. 

Inside was humble but very clean. There were different areas and plenty of specialists and volunteers from drug addiction to behavioral problems. The receptionist was a sweet girl and Noah nearly did a double-take. 

_She was the one Peter rescued in the fire in downtown that day_ , his mind provided as she smiled and extended her hand. Memories of cinders and shared glances surfaced as he shook her hand. 

“Good afternoon, Sheriff.” She had a beautiful smile and was a great example of the benefits to the rehabilitation and housing centers. _How convenient_. “What can I help you with?” 

“I was wondering if Erica Reyes is in today. I just need a quick word and I’ll be on my way.” 

The reception hall colors were a welcoming periwinkle blue with goldenrod trim. The dress code was relaxed. Everything about the facility was designed to feel welcoming. Noah had to admit, it did help on drug activity and relapses. He watched the receptionist type away and he only had to rock on his heels for twenty second before Erica Reyes emerged from a hallway. 

“Sheriff.” It was strange to think that she was the same young lady that he’d arrested several years prior for assault and battery. When he met her eyes, he could see that dark history behind them, boring back into him. “Come this way to my office. I already poured you a cup of coffee. Black, one sugar, right?” 

Noah’s face dropped in surprise. 

“That’s… that’s right.” 

He followed her along the carpet and into a cozy office with all kinds of pictures. One one side of her office were drawings from different kids, the other was framed photographs from her husband Vernon. Her hair was in a messy bun and when she turned to close the door he caught a glimpse of the long scar that stretched down her temple to her cheek. 

Sure enough, a hot cup of coffee was waiting for him. 

“So,” Erica sat with a soft huff, “what can I do for you, Sheriff?”

Noah watched her level him with a steady gaze, both of them basking in the silence of their shared history. She’d grown since then and, it seemed, was dedicated to giving back to the community via Mayor Hale’s new recreation and rehabilitation centers. Noah sipped his coffee. 

“I take it you were working last night?” 

Erica frowned, tiny wrinkles appearing between her eyebrows. 

“Yes. It was actually a late shift. We just got this new accounting system and most of the data transfer went over fine but I wanted to make sure it all went in. Poor Annie,” at Noah’s blank look Erica elaborated, “our receptionist, she and a few volunteers stayed late with me. Wouldn’t have been able to do it without them.” She rubbed her eyes. “I need more coffee, to be honest.” Noah could relate. He passed her his cup and she hesitated before she drank from it. When she finished she had more color in her cheeks. “Why, did something happen last night?” 

Her eyes were still the dark brown that Noah remembered, though this time they held less violence behind them.

“Mitchell Lahey wrapped his car around a tree. Apparently he was drunk. He died early this morning.” 

Erica’s eyes widened marginally and her throat bobbed. She sat back in her chair and her lips twitched. 

“Well, I hope you won’t mind that it doesn’t seem like much of a loss to me. Sorry you lost out on a poker buddy.” 

_I stopped playing cards with Mitchell a long time ago_ , Noah wanted to say. Instead he nodded with a shrug. 

“Thanks for taking the time, Erica. Get some rest when you can.” 

Erica’s lips pulled back into a toothy smile, one that lifted the exhaustion from her face. 

“You too, Sheriff.” 

::::

When the Sheriff arrested Erica Reyes, he remembered thinking it was a shame that her eighteenth birthday had the week before. 

Noah hadn’t been the first on the scene, but he arrived shortly after the assault was called in. When he heard the name _Erica Reyes_ his first thought was, “the girl who works at the Kaltsas Deli,” immediately followed by, “she seemed like a nice girl.” He arrived at Mitchell Lahey’s house ten minutes after it was called in. When he got out of his cruiser, the officers on the scene already had Erica in cuffs sitting on the curb. Isaac Lahey, Mitchell’s youngest, peeked out of the upper story window, but ducked down when the Sheriff glanced his way. 

“Geez, Mitchell,” Officer Dowell grimaced at the bruises on Mitchell’s eyes. “I sure am sorry.” 

Dowell hosted card games and Mitchell was often in attendance. Noah would have to talk to Dowell about keeping it professional afterwards. On the way over, Dowell had filled him in. Erica, an older friend of Isaac, had come over, broken down the door, and tried to beat Mitchell to death. He defended himself, hence her bloodied face. He called it in, and here they all were. 

“I’m pressing charges.” Mitchell’s lips were thin as they curled around the words. “She needs to be made an example of.” 

Erica lifted her head, her blonde hair matted with blood and her brown eyes like dark pits hidden under the crimson that stained her face. Her skin was inflamed and her bruises were already beginning to set in. Tears welled and streaked down her cheeks. She spit blood onto the Sheriff’s boots. 

“P-pigs.” The Sheriff was frozen on the spot as her breath hitched and she drew in a quick breath in order to scream. _“You animals are so eager to ignore when a father beats his son? Just because you play cards, just because he’s a_ nice guy _who can stand the fucking sight of you swine—”_

Dowell kicked her in the ribs. She fell to the pavement with a harsh wheeze. 

“Dowell, what the _fuck_?” 

Noah rushed over to pull Erica to her feet. He remembered how she recoiled from him, like she expected another blow.

Isaac never spoke out against his father, Noah never went to another card game, and Erica Reyes was sentenced to five years in prison. 

Years later, Gloria Spairow switched off her recorder after taking the typical bland statement on Mitchell Lahey’s death. 

“Off the record,” Gloria adjusted her scarf. She was Noah’s age though he thought she wore her years with much more grace and dignity than him. “Do you believe the circumstances around Lahey’s death?” 

Noah breathed deep, letting the smell of flowers fill his lungs. 

“I am looking into it.” He glanced around, in the wide open park where kids chased each other, where the sunlight sparkled along the lake. He ducked down so the could whisper to Gloria. “I’m keeping it close to the chest so far.” 

She hummed and her eyes were much more suspicious when she swept over their idyllic surroundings. Noah couldn’t share with her the observations he had been making, not to mention the work that his own son was doing. _Christ_ , Stiles wasn’t even in high school and his notes were often more detailed than Noah’s. 

Her voice was even more hushed when she turned to speak in his ear.

“You might want to look into Erica Reyes.” Noah sighed, about to say that she had a rock-solid alibi, when Gloria continued. “Kate Argent was sent to the same prison as Erica. I know Kate’s murder within the prison was never solved, but I find that interesting. They must have crossed paths, don’t you think?” 

Kate Argent… the name still made his skin crawl. She was the first of what he liked to call the Hale arrests. Bits of dirt scrubbed clean from the darkest places in Beacon Hills. 

Noah went back to his office and decided to stay late. He called ahead to Stiles and had him stay with Scott. He went through their old reports until he pulled out Erica and Kate’s files. He opened Erica’s. 

She’d been an exemplary prisoner. She was released within three years for her great behavior with parole. Under the details of her stay, her visitors were listed. Boyd’s name was in every dated entry, once a week he’d be there at four o'clock sharp. She was sent gifts, mostly by Boyd… but a few… 

_Unknown benefactor._

Boyd sent socks, slippers, practical things. 

The _unknown benefactor_ sent books on civil rights, urban planning, battling gentrification, and criminal justice reform. Someone had wanted Erica to do some studying before she left. Her overlap with Kate Argent was two years, during which, Kate Argent was found with her throat cut deep across and down the middle in the showers. The gashes had been so severe that her vocal chords had been severely damaged which was why most speculated she hadn’t screamed. 

Three months later Erica Reyes was evaluated and her sentence was reduced. Noah kept flipping pages, because it was Boyd that picked her up, but what Noah needed to know was whether or not someone was _with him_ —

Four short knocks made Noah’s shoulders jump. He jerked his head up to see Mayor Peter Hale leaning in his doorway, a tired smile etched across his face. Noah made sure to keep very still, to not jerk the file closed or move away from his desk. He returned Peter’s smile, it was difficult not to. 

Even as he slowly proceeded in his investigation… he couldn’t help but get closer to their mayor. Peter had an odd habit of checking up on him and Noah knew it could be a part of surveillance. There were nights when he’d remain awake, paranoid that Peter knew what him and Stiles were working on, that they figured out that Peter somehow could hear things that were impossible for him to know, that he’d know about the notebooks that Stiles kept under his floorboards filled with theories, observations, and written conversations Noah and him would share around the dinner table while their mouths would move around benign, empty pleasantries. 

“You’re up late.” Peter let himself in with a friendly, easy-going authority. “I hope you’re not burning the wick at both ends.” 

“And if I am,” Noah slid his file closed and walked around his desk to lean on it, Peter coming close, _so close_ , “so are you. Do you ever sleep?” 

The window was open to let a fresh, floral breeze drift through. Peter’s features were not hindered by the flickering bulbs in the Sheriff’s office. Noah had eyes, eyes that still worked. The mayor was handsome, his smile was perfect, his bone structure was one that he was sure people envied. Yet his favorite moments with the mayor were when they shared a private space. Peter would relax, his smile would become crooked and tired. 

“There’s too much to do. Besides,” Peter swayed closer, “this way I get to see my favorite Sheriff.” 

Noah rolled his eyes. 

“I’m the only Sheriff.” 

Peter winked and Noah thought of Gloria’s first confession to him. _He’s doing wonderful things, but where will we draw the line on our own ethics? Legally… it’s hard to see how he’s getting things done so quickly._ Warm fingers dragged over Noah’s knuckles. It felt as though sparks lit up under his skin, bursting in bright colors as Peter stepped between his legs. His breath caught moments before Peter kissed him. 

His files wrinkled beneath him as Peter pushed him down onto his desk, his breath hot against Noah’s neck. Noah’s first thought was, _this is a fucking terrible idea._ His second thought was, _how did I forget how good this feels?_

::::

Mitchell Lahey was buried on a Sunday afternoon with few people in attendance. Isaac was there, though he didn’t say much and kept his eyes downward. Dowell and his card buddies were there, the smell of alcohol strong on their breath. They left as soon as the service finished, loudly sharing memories of Mitchell with each other, though they didn’t offer their condolences to Isaac. 

Stiles fidgeted in his suit and leaned his head against Noah’s side. They walked to Isaac and when Noah whispered, “I’m sorry for your loss,” Isaac merely nodded. Noah slipped his fingers over Stiles’s shoulder. 

“Want to visit mom?”

Stiles nodded and they walked along the graves until they got to Claudia’s modest headstone. Stiles knelt down and pressed his lips to the stone. Lichen and clovers grew around it in thick bunches. 

Before she died, Claudia insisted that Noah shouldn’t be afraid to find someone else. He’d countered that there would never be anyone like her. _“Of course there won’t be anyone like me. There is only one me and there is only one you.”_ She’d insisted that he not be afraid to find someone new.

Peter Hale couldn’t be more opposite of Claudia. Where she reflected truth back into the faces of all who looked at her, Peter hid it. He navigated the growing weirdness of Beacon Hills with familiarity and ease. He spoke in flowery promises that he delivered on with brutal speed and efficiency. Claudia spoke rarely but when she did it was only the truth. Her smiles had to be earned while Peter’s were given freely. 

_Not all of his smiles,_ Noah thought, _some of them are just for you._

“Dad,” Stiles’s knuckles were white as he gripped the headstone, his head leaned back to rest on Noah’s shoulder. “Are we going to stop our work now?” 

_Now that you’re dating the mayor?_ Noah’s throat tightened and he gently smoothed his fingers over his son’s shoulders. Stiles was barely fourteen. He should be concerned with school and his friends, not about his father’s investigations about their town. But Stiles had always been smart, Noah used to say _too smart for his own good_. Stiles was eager to help, he probably would have done his own information gathering if Noah hadn’t looped him in. 

“No.” The tension bled out of his son’s shoulders. Noah kissed the top of Stiles’s head. “No. We’ll still do everything like we did before.” 

Stiles turned back toward his father and smiled, wide and free. 

“Good.” 

With a final departing kiss to Claudia’s headstone, they left. As they walked through the gates of the cemetery, Noah noticed that Erica and Boyd waited. Isaac came to them and opened his arms. Erica and Boyd swept him up in tight hugs, and they grinned, laughing into the sunbeams. Stiles watched and squeezed his father’s hand. 

Another thing to make note off, another observation to record and store under Stiles’s bed. 

Summer ended. Noah’s romance continued, if he could call it that. Peter, Derek, and Cora would come over for dinner about once a month if their schedules allowed it. Being a mayor and a Sheriff didn’t leave a lot of free time for much of anything that wasn’t a quick fuck in the Sheriff’s cruiser or Peter’s office. Peter _watched_ him just as the Sheriff _watched_ Peter. Partly out of affection… partly… 

_I love you, darling._

The words punctured deep like a bullet. The words were hot metal that remained in his body, thrilling and agonizing all at once. He rubbed his hand over his heart as Gloria sat down in his office. The chair creaked and she gently put her bag on his desk. Noah couldn’t help but think that, just a week ago, Peter had fucked him so hard against his desk that his ears had popped as he sobbed his way through his climax. He swallowed, his throat clicking as Gloria breathed deep. 

“Are you alright?” Gloria’s hand reached out to squeeze his. “I didn’t see you after the press conference.” 

Noah had been busy having a quiet panic attack in the bathroom. He knew why Peter did it. It was a perfect deflection to Gloria’s worthwhile question. Even though he’d felt the burn of shame and embarrassment, he’d been glad she’d asked. Gloria had courage and clarity, which was rare to find in Beacon Hills. 

“I’m fine.” 

“And you’re still…” 

Gloria didn’t say anything, because the Sheriff himself hadn’t acknowledged it in words. It was a growing suspicion that they both felt, a tugging of their conscious. Good things were happening in Beacon Hills. Progress was being made. Crime rates were down, the grade average in their school had risen. And yet… Noah couldn’t quell the feeling that it was coming at moral price. That somewhere… _someone_ or _some people_ were forcing the progress at a legal and moral cost. 

_Don’t be afraid to face the truth, Noah_. Claudia’s voice returned to him, as clear as the day she died. _And don’t be afraid if what you feel about the truth changes_. 

He nodded and Gloria’s shoulders relaxed marginally. She dug through her bag and pulled out a leather binder of papers. 

“I have a friend up at the women’s prison. I inquired about Erica’s release. He was able to give me these.” 

She pushed a folder across his desk. He opened it to see glossy photos taken from a security camera feed. Erica in the clothes she’d come in with, her sparse belongings, and all the books she’d been mysteriously gifted stacked high in her arms. The next photo was of her just outside the prison, kissing Boyd, then boyfriend, now husband. 

Boyd’s car was the same, a weathered blue Volvo. It’s driver and passenger door was open… and in the backseat… 

A shadowy figure. It was hard to make out, but they were well groomed. If they were female, their hair was short, curled just around the ears and reached the bottom of their neck. But the Sheriff knew the curve of the figure’s jaw. He knew the slope of the neck and the way the hair fell just below the neckline. 

He’d left love bites on that jaw. 

“The Hale fire was ruled an arson.” Outside the Sheriff’s office, life moved on in a hum of chatter and stale coffee. Gloria was going salt-and-pepper gray at her temples and her knuckles were white, just like Noah’s. “Do think our mayor believed that explanation when it was given to him?” 

Peter’s voice from years before echoed across Noah’s memory. _I envy you, Sheriff. You see the best in this town… it must be so easy to sleep at night._

“I don’t believe so, no.” 

A muscle in Gloria’s jaw jumped. 

“Kate Argent was the first of the Hale arrests. She was specifically placed in that prison, I believe, to be executed.” 

Noah’s throat tightened. 

“But… what would Erica get in return for doing it?” 

“Mr. Lahey.” Gloria swallowed, slow and sticky. “Life for a life. A deal so simple it’s almost too easy to accept.” Gloria rested her elbows on Noah’s desk. “Somehow Peter struck a deal with Erica to kill Kate, whom he believed to be responsible for the fire. Upon her completing her end, he’d get her out of prison, a job, and…” 

“What, _kill_ Mitchell Lahey?” Noah’s lips twitched upward in an incredulous smile, though it quickly tasted bitter and wrong. “Gloria, he can’t have— he…” 

Noah’s heartbeat increased, a single timpani against a roaring storm. Of course Peter could have killed Mitchell Lahey, just as any person had the ability to kill another. But the… finesse it would have taken to create those wounds, the effort, the _time_ … 

Mayor Peter Hale had a way of delivering on his promises. 

“How much have you gathered, Gloria?” 

“Not enough. But it’s a start. I’ve started to dig up dirt on Kate. She’s not as clean as we thought.” _Peter was right_ , Noah couldn’t stop himself from thinking. It must have shown on Gloria’s face because she shuddered as though a cold wind sliced through her. “There are legal ways to find justice, Noah. If we… if we accept this new order… we’re losing the laws that made us safe in the first place. They were put in place for a reason, Noah.” 

“Of course.” He touched his badge. “I’m well aware, Gloria.” 

She smiled, the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes deepening. 

“You’ll be careful, Sheriff.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She went back to the office, the sun shining down on them. Hours remained in the day and Noah should be on a patrol, he should be checking in with his officers. There were countless things he could have been doing. 

_“Noah, it’s Peter. Well, obviously it’s me, you’d know my voice. I just wanted to— I hope you don’t, I hope I didn’t—”_

_“Sorry, I, I… I find myself at a loss for words. I don’t regret what I said, only how I chose to present it. Obviously I meant it. Obviously, I had an entire plan for it. With wine. No rose petals. Unless you’d prefer rose petals? Sorry, that was stupid. I know you’re at work. I’m at work. We should be… I shouldn’t be calling when you can’t answer but I just ne—”_

_“... I needed to hear your voice.”_

When he fell in love with Claudia it was a gradual fall, like sinking into a warm bath after a cold day. It was a typical love story, full of sweet dates, gradual and growing affection. When he confessed his love to her he’d been a sweating, nervous mess. She’d laughed and kissed his cheeks, a soft _“I love you,”_ pressed against his skin with each caress of her lips. It was a love that was warm and comfortable. 

Kira brightened when the Sheriff stepped through the office doors. 

“Oh, thank God.” Kira stood, brushing herself off. “It’s been a long day and,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “I think he needs to see you.” 

Noah smiled, his hands steady as he gently squeezed Kira’s shoulder. 

“It’s why I’m here.” He jerked his head toward the door. “You know, I think passed Finstock downstairs—” 

“You did?” 

Kira was off like a shot, hurrying through the doors with a youthful speed. The Sheriff chuckled before he walked behind her desk and into Peter’s office. 

The doors creaked and Peter’s head jerked up. His grey-blue eyes widened, his mouth falling open. His clothes were rumpled, the top button of his white-shirt was undone, and the bags under his eyes were dark. It had been three days since the press conference. Three days since—

“I love you.” It was not a slow sinking into a bath, it was a plummet, a screaming fall as Peter just _stared_ at him. Noah squared his shoulders. “I love you, Pe—” 

In a wild blur Peter went from standing behind his desk of papers to pulling Noah into a kiss. It was hot, wet, messy in a way that was endearingly clumsy. He spoke poetic, seducing words against his lips, words that Noah ignored in favor for the way Peter gripped his shirt, for how he pressed him hard against the wall and _breathed_ Noah in, like Noah was an experience to savor. To relive. To remember. 

Peter stole the breath from his lungs until Noah could hardly tell which way was up. Peter dragged his teeth along Noah’s lips, pulling out a guttural moan until Noah had to break apart for breath. 

Hot air washed over Noah’s knuckles as his chest heaved. Peter kissed his hand, delicately, then paused. Noah felt the air move, a slow inhale from Peter’s nose. Peter drew back, his eyes widening.

“I love you, Peter.” 

Sirens wailed outside. Noah’s heart pounded in his chest. Peter’s smile softened and when he spoke it was breathless with wonder. 

“I know.”

Peter opened his doors in time to see Finstock and Kira run in. Kira’s lipstick was slightly smudged as she drew in a harsh breath. 

“Peter, Gloria Spairow’s house is on fire.” 

Finstock sucked in air like a beached whale. 

“Gloria is fine, she was at the office, but—” 

They kept talking but the Sheriff didn’t hear a thing. He lost himself in the sensation of Peter’s thumb rubbing the inside of the Sheriff’s wrist, where he’s sure the smell of gasoline still lingered.

**Author's Note:**

> Second installment! I hope you guys enjoy this slow descent into recalibrating one's own moral compass. It was a fun experiment that I hope to continue! There are so many fun characters to play around with in this! I was listening to Twin Peaks music and score the entire time... so if you feel some of those vibes that is why.
> 
> Please, pretty please let me know what you think, good or bad! Thank you!
> 
> If you want to chat with me on my tumblr, come find me [**here**](http://mia6363.tumblr.com/)! Say hello if you feel like it. 


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